


in that land, there's a winter

by betternovembers



Category: Downton Abbey, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 02:17:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betternovembers/pseuds/betternovembers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edith Crawley, year six.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in that land, there's a winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allthingsholy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthingsholy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [in that winter, a day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/265401) by [allthingsholy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthingsholy/pseuds/allthingsholy). 



> Reading "[in that winter, a day](http://archiveofourown.org/works/265401)" before reading this is highly encouraged. The concept of Edith/Neville is alllllll Allison.

Mary had warned her about so many of the intimidating things at Hogwarts, but apparently Mary had found the idea of attending a career counseling session to be a matter of little concern.

Edith disagrees. Strongly.

Then again, Mary is always on the move, on a path to something even if she’s not quite sure what it is. Her future is a topic of constant discussion amongst the family, particularly with Papa. Graduation’s only a few months away and then Mary goes back to Downton, to live the rest of her life. Edith might be the only one who knows she’s hiding. And Sybil has known since she was eleven that she wanted to be a Healer. But Edith is still floundering, trying to find a class she truly excels at, like Neville and his plants, or Mary and transfiguration. And there’s also the fact that she’s going to have to discuss all of this uncertainty with Professor McGonagall, who emanates careful planning and grim determination.

(Of course Mary hadn’t been worried, she’d discussed her prospects with Flitwick. It’s hard to be intimidated by a man that doesn’t even come up to one’s waist.)

She envies Neville for a brief moment before she knocks on McGonagall’s door. Edith knows there’s a certain freedom in knowing exactly what you want from your life. If only things were that simple for her.

 

 

She’s only been on the opposite side of McGonagall’s desk a few times. None of those experiences have exactly been pleasant ones.

“Have you given any thought to your future?”

She’s given it plenty of thought, of course, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s found any answers. There are simply too many things to worry about: He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, if her family and Downton will be safe, if she truly will be in an army, and not just a child playing at soldiers, but someone who could wound or kill another wizard.

She’ll worry about her career if she survives. Her look must give her away, since McGonagall doesn’t wait for her to reply.

“These are, well—to put it rather mildly—dangerous times we live in, Ms. Crawley.”

She’s not sure if it’s her turn to talk, so she stays silent and watches the way McGonagall’s eyes float to the ceiling for a brief moment, and the quick turn of her mouth from a straight line to the slightest frown.

The silence lasts until, finally, she says “My sister says—”

McGonagall holds up a hand, “As your head of house, I’ve watched you grow up, over the past six years. I’ve watched you try to break free from your sister’s shadow. I have not called you here to discuss your sister’s future, but your own.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“There are a great many things you seem to be good at, Ms. Crawley, but have any of them particularly struck your fancy as something you would like to pursue after your education is completed?”

She’s passable at Transfigurations, decent enough at Potions even though she rather hates it, and gets good enough marks in the rest, although her best class is probably Muggle Studies.

Edith chooses her words carefully. “It’s not that I don’t care for my classes. I’m just not sure if I’m truly prepared for anything.”

McGonagall makes a note on a piece of parchment in front of her. “I understand that you had other certain extracurricular activities that you found quite rewarding. And your marks in Defense have gone up this year, which is a remarkable achievement.”

It’s probably best that she holds in her laugh at that. McGongall’s small smirk doesn’t help matters though. Snape is truly an _awful_ Defense professor, although really anyone’s an improvement over Umbridge.

“Have you ever considered a career with the Ministry of Magic? Perhaps not the Aurors, but there’s always the MLE.”

“I just thought, with everything that’s going on—”

“Ms. Crawley, if I can promise one thing to you, it will be that the Ministry will change. It must, in order to survive. And when it does, it will need our brightest, like you and Ms. Granger and the rest.”

She had never even considered the Ministry. If what she’s heard is right, it’s a lost cause already.

“Contrary to what you might have heard, this meeting between us is not the only chance you are given to choose your entire future. You are allowed to go contemplate your options.”

She’s not sure if that means she’s being dismissed until McGonagall gestures at the door. She’s halfway through the it when McGonagall calls out, “Ms. Crawley, one final thought for you.”

“Yes, Professor?”

“I find it necessary, even comforting in times such as these, to make plans rather than to wait. Don’t be so afraid that you put off the rest of your life.”

“Are you afraid?” she asks, and immediately wishes she could take it back.

McGonagall’s eyes are kind though, and Edith can finally see past the fact that she’s a Professor, to the woman that’s already lived through a war and is about to fight another. “We all are, Ms. Crawley. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Right. Thank you, Professor.”

 

 

Neville sits with her by the fireplace. Her Charms essay is barely six inches, and he wordlessly pushes over his notes from class.

“How was it today with McGonagall? Mine barely lasted five minutes. _Longbottom, Professor, have you given any thought—I rather like plants, well then Longbottom, I’ll see you in class._ ” His McGonagall imitation is a strange creaking Scottish thing that she can’t help but laugh at.

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, and remembers the boy that pushed in next to her after they’d been sorted, both feeling out of place and very small. Now he seems to be all shoulders and knees and big enough to take up two spots on the sofa, even if his taste in jumpers is has remained consistently terrible.

She’d follow him anywhere.

And if that means she follows him to war, due to her talk today with McGonagall, she at least knows that it would be worth it. For _after_.

“Not too hopeless.”

“I told you. You’re always brilliant.” He smiles at her, and offers her a bite of a chocolate frog.

She’s made her choice.

Truth be told, she made it quite some time ago.


End file.
